Vegas Curves (A Masters of the Game BBW Erotic Romance) by Christa Wick
Authors: Christa Wick
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ridiculous.
Laughable, really. A week hasn't passed since I needed rescued by commandos while stuck in a dingy stall with my panties down. I am no Mata Hari, Salome or Delilah. I'm more like Lucille Ball and Vivian Vance in the Chocolate Factory episode, but at a much larger size than either woman.
Vincent moves to the window. "What's so funny?"
Realizing that I laughed, I laugh again then cut him a side look. "You are."
Not the best way to make friends with the man, but I have kept my head down for twenty-six years. Today, I'm not only spoiling for a fight -- I'm ready to have it.
I turn, so he knows he has my full attention. "You came here to say something, so say it."
His mouth gives a little side twitch that would almost be a smile if his gaze didn't simultaneously narrow. "Nothing personal, Marie, but I want you to leave."
I don't respond immediately. He has said "he wants" -- not that Luke wants or the more forceful "get lost, bitch" that would indicate a solid decision has been reached between brothers. It is impossible for me to care less what Vincent wants.
Relaxing, I smile at him. "Hard not to take that personally -- you must have your reasons."
He shifts, his mass briefly moving from left foot to right before it returns. It may or may not be a tell -- but the blinks and the slight new tilt to his head are. Vincent Masters is not agitated or angry, he's nervous.
Standing, I move until I am half an arm's length from him. Like his brother, he cuts an imposing figure -- handsome, muscular, resolute. His height means I have to look up at him at this distance. The dynamics should make me feel like I'm in the weaker position, but I don't. So I look up, my smile closed-mouth and soft, and then I speak.
"Surely, you have had to share him before."
His body tightens and I can feel the heat of his anger as his skin flushes, but that is the only outward physical reaction I get. He forces his body to relax then smiles back.
"How much do you want to go away?"
A simple question for which I have a simple answer. I return to the window and sit down. My back to him, I watch his reflection in the glass. "I want what's left of my thirty days."
Crossing half the distance to where I stand, Vincent stops and folds his arms across his broad chest. "One hundred thousand dollars and whatever else Luke agreed to give you."
At this, I glance back, but only for effect. My gaze travels down his torso to stop at his crotch. I smirk and shake my head, only half feeling the gesture. "Sorry, you're not my type."
This brings him directly to my chair.
I brace for violence.
Vincent drops down to one knee. His hand curls around the top edge of my chair. He remains mute until I look at him. He is solemn, all the anger evaporated, and suddenly I am uncertain.
"I told you it was nothing personal, Marie. Hell, I even like you." His hand rubs at the chair's fabric and I sense that he wants to touch me, if only for the veracity the contact will give his words. "But there are people out there who want to kill you. Luke risked his life once to save you. He'll risk it again."
He chooses this moment to touch me, his hand brushing against my cheek. "Sorry, baby, you're just not worth that -- not to me at least."
I can feel the tears coming hard, but I won't let them erupt. Vincent's valuation of my worth hasn't hurt my feelings. I agree with him -- I would put Luke's safety above my own, just as I would put Tommy's and, even now, Rose's.
His hand cups my cheek and I lose the fight to contain my tears, but I don't agree to leave. Brushing his hand away, I turn my attention back to the window.
"I'm staying."
**********
I sit and think for another two hours, wondering if I could really be the death of Luke Masters. As wealthy as he is, he will always be a target for violence. That is the nature of money and power -- everyone else wants what you have and some people are willing to kill for it. But revenge is a different beast. With my
Laughable, really. A week hasn't passed since I needed rescued by commandos while stuck in a dingy stall with my panties down. I am no Mata Hari, Salome or Delilah. I'm more like Lucille Ball and Vivian Vance in the Chocolate Factory episode, but at a much larger size than either woman.
Vincent moves to the window. "What's so funny?"
Realizing that I laughed, I laugh again then cut him a side look. "You are."
Not the best way to make friends with the man, but I have kept my head down for twenty-six years. Today, I'm not only spoiling for a fight -- I'm ready to have it.
I turn, so he knows he has my full attention. "You came here to say something, so say it."
His mouth gives a little side twitch that would almost be a smile if his gaze didn't simultaneously narrow. "Nothing personal, Marie, but I want you to leave."
I don't respond immediately. He has said "he wants" -- not that Luke wants or the more forceful "get lost, bitch" that would indicate a solid decision has been reached between brothers. It is impossible for me to care less what Vincent wants.
Relaxing, I smile at him. "Hard not to take that personally -- you must have your reasons."
He shifts, his mass briefly moving from left foot to right before it returns. It may or may not be a tell -- but the blinks and the slight new tilt to his head are. Vincent Masters is not agitated or angry, he's nervous.
Standing, I move until I am half an arm's length from him. Like his brother, he cuts an imposing figure -- handsome, muscular, resolute. His height means I have to look up at him at this distance. The dynamics should make me feel like I'm in the weaker position, but I don't. So I look up, my smile closed-mouth and soft, and then I speak.
"Surely, you have had to share him before."
His body tightens and I can feel the heat of his anger as his skin flushes, but that is the only outward physical reaction I get. He forces his body to relax then smiles back.
"How much do you want to go away?"
A simple question for which I have a simple answer. I return to the window and sit down. My back to him, I watch his reflection in the glass. "I want what's left of my thirty days."
Crossing half the distance to where I stand, Vincent stops and folds his arms across his broad chest. "One hundred thousand dollars and whatever else Luke agreed to give you."
At this, I glance back, but only for effect. My gaze travels down his torso to stop at his crotch. I smirk and shake my head, only half feeling the gesture. "Sorry, you're not my type."
This brings him directly to my chair.
I brace for violence.
Vincent drops down to one knee. His hand curls around the top edge of my chair. He remains mute until I look at him. He is solemn, all the anger evaporated, and suddenly I am uncertain.
"I told you it was nothing personal, Marie. Hell, I even like you." His hand rubs at the chair's fabric and I sense that he wants to touch me, if only for the veracity the contact will give his words. "But there are people out there who want to kill you. Luke risked his life once to save you. He'll risk it again."
He chooses this moment to touch me, his hand brushing against my cheek. "Sorry, baby, you're just not worth that -- not to me at least."
I can feel the tears coming hard, but I won't let them erupt. Vincent's valuation of my worth hasn't hurt my feelings. I agree with him -- I would put Luke's safety above my own, just as I would put Tommy's and, even now, Rose's.
His hand cups my cheek and I lose the fight to contain my tears, but I don't agree to leave. Brushing his hand away, I turn my attention back to the window.
"I'm staying."
**********
I sit and think for another two hours, wondering if I could really be the death of Luke Masters. As wealthy as he is, he will always be a target for violence. That is the nature of money and power -- everyone else wants what you have and some people are willing to kill for it. But revenge is a different beast. With my
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